


Tearing You Asunder

by MrsNoggin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A damn good seeing to, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, First Time, FrostIron - Freeform, IronFrost - Freeform, Loki is pure filth, M/M, Obsession, Oral Sex, Tony loves it, basic shameless smut, dirty talking, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 13:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1746542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsNoggin/pseuds/MrsNoggin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>If it was anyone else he would have enquired as to their wellbeing, asked if they were okay, offered a drink or a shoulder, with a sprinkling of wit and humour, of course, because Tony tries not to do serious if he can avoid it. But it’s not anyone else; it’s Loki. And Tony shouldn’t be offering him anything, except maybe a good slap and a swift trip out of the building, perhaps through a window. </i>
</p><p>Loki has started appearing randomly and mysteriously in Stark Tower. This can't end well, can it? </p><p>(For GoodOldJames and his detailed request!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tearing You Asunder

**Author's Note:**

> Upon receiving the following request, I immediately began the descent into FrostIron insanity. I am not at my most confident in this fandom/universe/thingy and please forgive any glaring mistakes I have made. Though the prompt was detailed enough that I had a fairly easy ride on that front. 
> 
> _Original Prompt – FrostIron. Loki is poetically angsty. Slowburn. Tony is kind rather than a git. Rough subtext – Loki topping from the bottom. But no dub con please! And a non-sappy happy ending._
> 
> And for any regular readers of mine - **just a little caution** \- this is fairly filthy in parts, compared to my usual works. Please consider yourself warned. 
> 
> I sincerely hope it works, especially for you, GoodOldJames, you marvellous creature. And big thanks to [Clarinetchica](http://archiveofourown.org/users/clarinetchica) for reading it over, weeding out my Britishness, and generally being wonderful.

* * *

 

Tony has no idea why _he_ is here, he certainly shouldn’t be. It doesn’t appear that Loki is even aware of anyone’s presence. He is looking away, staring into space, gaze unfocussed on the sky outside, his eyes lost in an abyss of something or other that Tony doubts he could even himself pretend to comprehend. His hands are shaking, laid gently on the top of his thighs, but trembling all the same. 

They are what stop Tony raising the alarm.

If it was anyone else he would have enquired as to their wellbeing, asked if they were okay, offered a drink or a shoulder, with a sprinkling of wit and humour, of course, because Tony tries not to do serious if he can avoid it. But it’s not anyone else; it’s Loki. And Tony shouldn’t be offering him anything, except maybe a good slap and a swift trip out of the building, perhaps through a window.

He’s the God of Mischief, a trickster, he can project any image he so desires; there is no telling if he is even here at all, he’s certainly not supposed to be, and Tony has no intention of offering himself and his reluctant comfort to someone who might be somewhere else entirely, laughing at him. 

“Leave.”Loki’s voice has always transfixed Tony. He supposes it’s by design, the soft vibrations and smooth chimes intended to affect the mere mortal. But now the voice is rough, as if parts of him have been hacked away and all that is left is a scarred echo of what existed before.

He should listen, obey the command and allow himself to be dismissed, even if only because that was what he intended to do, but for some reason he steps closer.“I believe that’s my line.”

“I have no time for you, Man of Iron.”

“Well, see you later then. Or preferably not. And certainly not in my tower.” Tony heads over to the bar, reaching for a glass. He has better things to do than talk to a depressed evil genius. Hasn’t he?

When he looks up to see Loki’s reaction, try and garner whether or not his words have had any effect, there is only an empty space, a clear bench seat, no trace of the God and no sign whether or not the image had been a creation of his imagination.

***

_He wants. He wants more than he has ever wanted before. The wanting has become such a part of his life, he doesn’t even remember what it feels like not to want anymore.  It is intrinsic to his existence. If he ever received the object of his longing he doesn’t actually know if he would survive, how he would function not needing it to the very element of his being anymore._

_The problem really, if he lets himself think about it long enough to reach any sensible conclusions, is that he doesn’t actually know what it is he wants so much._

***

Tony is not sure why he’s awake. It feels like the middle of the night.

“Jarvis. Time?”

“The time is zero three hundred hours and eight minutes.”

“Gah.” He rolls over, puling the sheet up to his ears and closes his eyes.

Something feels wrong though. Nothing he can put his finger on, just a tickle of an instinct that has him wide awake. He sits up and listens through the darkness. There is no foreign sound, nothing but the barely detectable hum of electronics and his own breathing. But Tony has learnt to listen to his instincts, skewed though they may sometimes be.

“Scan the interior of the building, Jarvis.”

“Looking for anything in particular?” A swift reply, a pause, and then, “Everything is running smoothly, sir.”

“Security systems?”

“Up and running, no anomalies detected.”

“Meh,” he shrugs it off and lies back down. Except it won’t be shrugged off and less than two minutes later he is up and out of bed, pulling on a t-shirt.

The reason for his discomfort is made plain as he moves through to the darkened living area. Loki is back in his spot, staring out of the same window with the same look of silent despair on his face.

“Lights.”

The lights warm up slowly, staying dimmer than usual. Probably something he has programmed in for this time in the morning, even if he can’t quite recall doing it. Loki shows no reaction to the light, not even a twitch of a muscle.

“Oh for God’s sake, I thought my thoughts were made perfectly the last time,” Tony snaps. He is ignored. “Jarvis, you said all security systems were functioning.”

“I did.”

“Then how the hell is he in here?” He should be afraid, he supposes, worried, considering calling for help, summoning Avengers. But Loki doesn’t seem particularly intimidating, or even conscious.

“Who, sir?”

Tony shoots Loki a dark look. He would be the  _one_  person who could override and fool a system as advanced and... foolproof as Stark’s. Unless, as per his earlier thoughts, he is not actually  _here_. “Forget it, Jarvis.”

He makes his way cautiously to the bar, keeping a casual eye on the man-god by the window. The light drifting in from the cityscape outside highlights the dramatic features of Loki’s face, grazing across his high brow and the deep sweep of his cheekbones. There is a distinct downward curve to his lips.

“Drink?” Tony disturbs the heavy silence in the room. He gets down two glasses from the shelf on the wall, but at the lack of an answer he only pours one whiskey. “Any chance you’re going to tell me why you’re here?”

“No.” Finally a response.

“Are you intending to kill me? Because a little heads up would be nice. I have no desire to be discovered in my underwear by some poor unsuspecting soul. I’d always envisioned going out in a blaze of glory and suitably attired.”

“In a suit of iron?” He is still not looking, or even seeming particularly interested.

“Or a nice wool blend, maybe a shawl-necked dinner jacket and crisp starched shirt. And patent wingbacks, because really, the shoes are what make the outfit.”

They both look down then, at Loki’s feet. The scuffed leather shines with use rather than polish and there is a smattered stain of what looks disturbingly like blood up the outside of one ankle.

“Alas, I appear to be letting the side down somewhat,” he drawls, his words somehow still sharp and pronounced despite the lazy monotone.

Tony laughs and pours another whiskey. If he’s going to die at least he’ll do it as a good host. He lounges himself casually on the cushy bench seat beside Loki, at least three feet away, and holds out the drink. After ten seconds of Loki regarding it suspiciously, Tony gives up and slides it onto the ledge beside them.

“It appears there is little chance of solitude here.”

“Nup.” Tony sips his drink and shakes his head, “Not in my place. Not for uninvited visiting super-villains who appear in the dead of night with questionable intentions. You brother isn’t here right now, but then, you already knew that.”

He rarely is. Thor has enough kingdoms to defend. Earth is all set right now, without him. He'll come back if he's needed, appearing in that mysterious way of his. 

“I do not come for company. And certainly not his.”

“I guessed.”

“Nor have I nefarious purposes.”

“Oh.” Well, that would be a surprise if he could quite believe it.

“I have no wish to kill you today, Stark.”

“Glad to hear it. Then why  _are_  you here?” There has to be some reason, and right now nefarious is looking likely, no matter what he says.

“This tower,” Loki begins slowly and carefully, “This stylised turret of your metaphorical castle places you high above the rest of your kingdom.”

“Hey, hey. Don’t take the arrogant subtext too far!” Tony protests. He likes the idea of towering over the city, of being prominent and standing out amongst the sky-scrapers, but he is no king, and has never wanted to be. Far too much responsibility.

“You are on top of your world. One may look out and see the sky meeting the staggered lines of your peoples’ constructions. The stars are feeble in the nights of Midguard, but you have replaced them with ones of your own creation.” He lifts an elegant long-fingered hand to gesture loosely at the electric lights illuminated far into the distance. “The perfect situation to celebrate the progressions of your species and their attempts to dominate and suppress the planet to which they owe their successes. A rather glorious place to watch the downfall of Earth.”

“Well, that started out pretty...” Tony smiles into his whiskey.

“Things usually do.” Loki picks up his tumbler, downs the fiery liquid in one long swallow and stalks from the room in a swish of expensive looking cloak and a creak of worn leather.

***

 _It is wrong to want, to need, something he cannot have and to have no way to work towards it. Every desire has a method, a route to take to achieve it. But this, this has nothing, he has_  nothing.  _Except the insatiable pining, the burning need in the pit of his belly and no clue how to extinguish it._

_***_

Tony spends a disappointing week sleeping lightly and searching his uncooperative instincts for and prickling of intrusion, but there is nothing. He tweaks with Jarvis’ settings and codes and data streams and sensors and tries to find some way to figure out how Loki can get in, without straight out asking. Because for some reason, despite never needing nor trying to hide anything from the A.I., he can’t quite bear to admit that he is being bested by someone.

Because that’s what it is, surely. No matter the main reason for Loki breaking into the tower, one of the notions of his design must be to infuriate Tony by his presence.

He manages not to question Thor, though it would be so easy to slip it into conversation,  _‘Talking of enemies, any idea what your brother is up to at the moment? Not still in prison, I take it?’_  Because he’s surely not, not if he is free to come and go from Tony’s quarters as it takes his fancy.

It is not until two weeks later that Tony wakes suddenly, sitting up in bed and fighting off his twisted sheets and knowing something is happening. He has no intention of exploring exactly why he is so happy about it, just tells himself it is so he can check the changes he has implemented in his security software.

“Jarvis!”

“Still all clear, sir.”

Tony frowns. Frustrating. Then again, the computer might still be right. In which case he is seriously paranoid. He should probably see someone about it.

“You might want to do something about that.” A disembodied voice from the dark corner of his room puts an end to the sentiment.

“God, in my bedroom now?!” Tony tries to hide his startled flinch with irritation, “Lights, 30%.”

The lights drift on, slow and warm. Loki is sat casually and easily on the ridiculously uncomfortable yet fashionable armchair in the corner by the bathroom door, one leg crossed limply over the other.

“Your security measures are pitiable, Stark.”

Tony ignores him, and swings his legs to the side of his bed. “Is that a black eye?”

Loki frowns for a second, a momentary blip in his facade and then the bruising fades with a disconcerting shimmer. Telling, very telling. Tony wonders exactly where that injury came from and how on Earth (or not on Earth) he neglected to hide it. But he says nothing. Neither does Loki.

“Can I ask again why you are here?”

His head cocks to one side, “I am assured freedom of speech is something you humans prize highly.”

“But will I get an answer?”

“Likely not the one you desire.”

“I’ll not bother then.” Tony yanks a t-shirt over his bare torso. Loki is fully dressed in his armoured tunic, swathed in expensive luxurious looking fabric and leather. Nudity rarely fazes Tony, but there is something about the focussed gaze of Loki that affects him even when suited and booted.

He doesn’t exactly want to stay in his bedroom, but it would feel even more wrong to leave the room, and leave Loki behind in there. What point could he possibly have for being in there in the first place? “So was the plan to wake me, or just sit there and watch me sleeping?”

It sounds even worse when he says it out loud and he can’t stop a shiver. There’s creepy lurking and then there’s... creepier lurking.

“I don’t believe there was a plan,” Loki admits.

Tony runs a frustrated hand through his hair, completely not caring that it is probably sticking up in all directions. Maybe caring a little. He pats it down awkwardly. “This can’t... I don’t... You’re going to have to tell me why you’re here.”

“Have to?”

“I can’t be doing with this, it’s ridiculous. Are you here to taunt? Threaten? Just do it already.”

“Not today.”

“No taunts? No threats?”

Loki sighs, deflating visibly in front of Tony’s eyes, “I find it restful here in your... abode.”

Tony just raises his eyebrows in utter disbelief. “You come here for _rest_?”

“There are very few places one might feel secure.”

“Yes...” Tony agrees, widening his eyes meaningfully. Feeling secure would be nice about now.

Loki, of course, understands and grins, mischief curving his cheeks and sharpening his eyes. It is a transformation that accentuates just how miserable he has been looking recently. Tony can’t help smiling in return.

***

_Every now and then there is a glimpse. As if something from inside of him sees what it is that it so desperately craves and reaches out. Long fingers of desire grasp from within and curl uselessly into the air, drawing back slowly, disappointed and mourning. But in that moment there had been a tiny instant of hope, that he might reach it this time, whatever it is, and achieve some sort of satisfaction._

_But that moment is gone too quickly._  

_***_

The next time he appears (though he never appears, he is just  _there_  ), Tony finds himself strangely unsurprised, and in fact  _comfortable_  with his presence. He walks into the opulent private living area and catches sight of a dark figure in the corner of his eye, and manages not to even flick a glance his way. The vapours of the scotch heat the air in front of his face as he strolls across the room, stinging nicely at his nostrils, sending his saliva glands into overdrive. He clinks the glass gently down on the low table by Loki’s legs and keeps walking to the sofa a few feet from the window seats.

It has not passed his notice that the God only presents himself when Thor is out of the building. It could be a fear of discovery, he supposes, because the two are linked and bonded in ways Tony and his brilliant but ever-so-human mind cannot comprehend – his presence would surely not slip his brother by.

Tony says none of this out loud, of course, instead flopping himself down casually and flicking through the file on his own knee-height table. The S.H.I.E.L.D papers are boring, more than boring right now, but he persists in pretending to read them. 

***

_The longing has now been there long enough that he embraces it, almost lovingly. He feels it constantly, a heavy ache tugging on every strand of him, but sometimes it rears its head ill-temperedly, becoming sharp and stinging. Then the myriad of aches tear at him, ripping into him, making him bleed with want._

***

A few more weeks pass, a few more surprise visits, and probably several more he doesn’t know about. Upstairs, downstairs, in his sleeping quarters, on the roof terrace, in the basement. Tony gives up trying to monitor the comings and goings and allows himself to just  _be_. When he registers an unexpected presence he simply pours it a drink, just one mind you – he’s not encouraging this, whatever it is, and leaves it in peace. If Loki comes here to dwell and brood and feel secure while he does it Tony can cope with that. Lord knows, he’s needed it enough times in his life.

He would stop and think, if he wanted to, about just how he has no resentment towards this person, this man-god. He should hate him, hold his actions against him, should be frightened of him. But instead, the more Tony watches him from the corner of his eye, the more he sees a tired, sad being that perhaps deserves pity just a little more than hatred.

No words are shared between them again, not until the night where it all changes. Tony is up into the small hours, tweaking the unlatching mechanisms on the new arm pieces for his suit. To anyone else it would be boring, but this is Tony’s baby, and twisting and exploring graphics and miniscule variances in design is his pleasure.

He hears him before he sees him, the swoosh of fabric as his cloak shifts against his armour, the scuff of a boot on the floor. He doesn’t turn to look. It could be anybody, but Tony knows those sounds.

“Thor is upstairs,” he warns, before he can wonder why he wants to warn. The day has been full of meetings and agreements and tedious organisations of future issues. When there is no answer he finally turns, just a flick of his head to sweep quickly over the form behind him, confirm its identity. As he already knew, Loki stands there. But silence and stillness follows – no reaction to his words. Tony shakes his head, at a loss really, “Pushing your luck today then.”

“I am not afraid.” A sneer. “And definitely not of Thor.”

“Ok. Just figured, you don’t normally hang around when he’s... hanging around.”

“I never  _hang around_.”

Tony just rolls his eyes and flicks up another schematic into the air in front of him. “Mmm.”

Loki steps closer. “What are you doing?”

Well that is unexpected. More than unexpected. They rarely talk, and never about actual  _things_. Tony shuffles a little closer before he decides whether or not to, and breathes in the air of leather and cold and a tang of something piney. “I’m just smoothing out a couple of issues with the suit.”

“Issues?”

“The latching mechanisms on the elbow joints are catching on release. It’s all about redesigning the angle of the...” He pauses as he realises what he’s saying. “But I really would rather you not know the weak points, thanks.”

The image makes a satisfying power-down whoop noise as he sweeps it back down into the glass-like surface of the table.

“No fun.” Loki complains, but he doesn’t move away.

“It wouldn’t be for you to know your targets next time we’re going at it, no.”

“I don’t recall  _going at it_  with you at any time, Stark. Though, that’s not saying I wouldn’t be interested at the prospect.” Loki is taunting, but strangely serious at the same time.

It isn’t what he’d meant – he’d  _meant_  fighting, in combat, warring for the worlds and all that. But Loki’s innuendo sticks in his mind, popping up unwelcome images and suggestions of his own. The growl of irritation Tony lets out isn’t _entirely_ irritated.

Rather than being perturbed by the noise, Loki seems rather intrigued. There is no intimidation in his eyes, only a spark of something else – excitement perhaps, pleasure.

“Oh, Anthony,” the name is almost a caress, and Loki steps even closer into Tony’s space, forcing him to tip his head back a little to meet the gaze burning into him, “I could draw a variety of those noises from your lips.”

Well, there’s something Tony had never thought to find attractive before. Looking up at a man, feeling the heat of his breath grazing over the curve of his brow. It sends a jolt of something he’d rather not examine closely right now plummeting into his abdomen. He searches desperately for a response, some sharp retort that will send Loki elsewhere, preferably with his proverbial (though with this guy, who knew?) tail between his legs. But his brain is stuttering, a bit too occupied with absorbing the extent of chest expansion with every breath, hearing the creak of the leather, calculating the pulse he can see thrumming in the long throat inches from his nose. Power is practically oozing from the man.

As quickly as the mood had changed, it switches back again. Loki takes a step backwards and Tony steels himself from leaning forwards to pursue the contact. Instead he turns back to his work area and stares at the tools to the side of it, trying to remember what it feels like to be a grown man in control of himself.

“Perhaps not.”

Tony wants to challenge that, ask exactly why not, what’s wrong with him... but he knows Loki has gone. The heaviness at the base of his spine is fading, the prickles on the back of his neck flattened. He is alone.

***

 _It should be torment. It is. But it’s a bittersweet version. If you took away the bitter the sweetness would lose its beauty. If you took away the sweet he might die._  

_***_

It is raining outside. Tony can’t see it or hear it, but he can feel it on the air. He can also feel a presence in his room, one that wasn’t there when he had finally wrestled his clothes off and flopped onto his bed in his underwear. He had been dreaming a moment ago, but only the barest memory remains now, a baseless sensation of being somewhere else, leaving something behind. 

He rolls over, the quilt pulling at his waist as he twists within its restraints. He doesn’t ask for lights or security updates or anything that might polish the wakefulness into any clarity.

“You dream of me.” The voice cuts through the darkness, gentle though it is.

Tony momentarily toys with the idea of denying it, or ignoring the statement completely; it’s not a question, it needs no answer. Before he comes to any concrete decision his larynx betrays him and rumbles a sound of assent.

“Are they good dreams?”

Tony reaches for his bottle of water and takes a mouthful. He gargles thoughtfully before swallowing. “Sometimes. Now.”

The unspoken reference to nightmares hovers heavily in the air for a few seconds. Tony is no longer ashamed of having them. He wonders if Loki is, of causing them.

“Go back to sleep, Stark.” He breaks the silence. His tone is soft, not careless. He seems to realise this and snorts. “I prefer you that way.”

Tony smiles into his pillow, unoffended. He likes their banter, he likes listening to him talk, even if the words are cutting. He knows better though, than to let himself drift back off. Even  _his_  defences aren’t that lax. “Do you sleep?”

“Oh, do be quiet.”

“There are plenty of beds in this building, you know.” Hang on a second, is he offering hospitality now? Funnily enough, a tiny part of him wants to offer his own bed. The rest of him has common sense. He talks nonsense rather than risk giving the tiny part a chance to speak. “I find that chair makes my back ache, it forces a most unnatural curve into the spine.”

“There are also plenty of people that want to kill me in this building.” Loki points out.

“Uh-huh, good point. In fact, sleep there. Cripple yourself. Make our jobs easier.”

Loki sighs despairingly, “I’m not sleeping.”

“No, you’re loitering, lingering, lurking, lots of alliterative terms for being a creep.”

“I was doing it most successfully until you regained consciousness.”

“You know, that’s not actually good thing.” Tony yawns into the crook of his elbow. He wants sleep, sleep wants him. It’s becoming an effort to function. It would be no effort at all to close his eyes and drift.

“I should have thought you would have worked out that I am not here to cause you harm.” He can almost hear Loki rolling his eyes. “Well... not specifically. You can go back to sleep now. I’d quite like you to. Your presence is rather irking.”

“ _My_ presence is irking? And I am not going to sleep with my arch-nemesis sitting two feet away in my chair.”

“Your very uncomfortable chair. Arch-nemesis, I’m flattered.”

“I did warn you. And don’t be, there’ve been a few.”

“I don’t doubt it. Men like you are rarely monogamous, even with your enemies.”

Tony huffs a laugh. “Don’t get jealous. You’ve lasted the longest so far.”

“Are you losing your touch?” Loki teases. His smile is audible.

“I could end you right now, if I wanted.” It is a flat out lie, and they both know it. Tony has never felt quite so powerless in his life, now he is unintentionally pointing it out to himself. Even in the darkest moments of his existence he had known what he was up against, he knew what he had and what they had. Now, though, he has no idea. Loki is unmeasured, perhaps immeasurable.

“And yet what you actually want to do is invite me into your bed.” His words are soft and slow and calculated. Silky vowels and sharp consonants that glide through the air and stroke heat into Tony’s cheeks.

A beat of silence. A beat in which Tony realises, yes, that is what he wants. Another beat of silence that communicates it perfectly. And then another broken only by the rustle of his bedclothes as he sits up and stares into the darkness, outlines a silhouette with his eyes, wishes they were his hands.

Loki stands and takes the one step across the gap between them. He rests one knee on the edge of the bed and leans towards Tony, leans  _over_  Tony. “Don’t,” Loki warns, but his actions are clearly at war with his judgement.

“Whatever.” Tony is shivering, trembling. He tries for a shrug and holds his breath.

This is so wrong, but so fantastic it can’t possibly be. Loki reaches to him, his fingers chilled against Tony’s warm stubbled cheek. His hand spans Tony's face, thumb up against the side of his nose, a fingertip at the outer corner of his eye, another under his ear. The heel of Loki's hand is under the curve of Tony’s jaw, pressing upwards, tipping him open. Tony suspects Loki could crush him, if he so desired, with one swift caress. He could certainly break his neck with an easy twist. Instead he leans in even closer, until his strangely sweet breath strokes gently along Tony’s cheekbone.

“I will destroy you, Man of Iron.”

Tony lets out his lungful of now stale air, accidentally releasing a word with it. “Please...”

Loki throws his head back and laughs. For a second Tony sees the madness, the absolute brilliant wild insanity of him, and it only makes him more beautiful.

Then, all of a sudden, he has a lapful of tightly corded masculinity and a pair of lips descending upon his own. Loki kisses like he speaks, long drawling monologues followed by a sharp snap and a cutting retort. Tony daren’t touch him, but his hands are clenching in the sheets with the need.

***

 _Those long fingers are unfurling again, reaching out from within him, demanding and insistent. There is no spike; this time it burns , setting him alight and consuming him. The urgency could overtake him, take him over, dominate. He could let it, but after all this time he has learned something of it_   _and he can sense the opportunity to master it._

_***_

“I want to take you apart.” Loki is quiet, almost as if he is speaking to himself. “I want to unthread you fibre by fibre until there is nothing left but a tangled mass of need, I want to taste every atom of your existence, sample the intricacies of your cells. 

In a twisted sort of way it is a confession. If Tony’s brain were working with adequate efficiency he would disembowel those mutterings and turn them into sense. Or he could just wrestle with his boxers, shove them down and kick them across the room. He does that.  “So when you say destroy...?”

Loki looks up, as if he had forgotten Tony was there at all, so distracted was he by Tony actually being there. “I mean it. I will  _destroy_  you. You will never be the same again."

He doesn’t want to be. Not when he could be like this; a melted pliable mess of want. When he could be pushed backwards and held  down one-handed, Loki’s sculpted lips tickling their way slowly up the outside of his thigh. Tony grabs at his head, weaving his fingers into long black locks. He worries for a second that perhaps he’s going to lose them, have them sliced off in instant retaliation at the uninvited touch, but Loki simply hums encouragingly to him, nosing at the curve of his pelvis.

“Don’t expect mercy.”

Tony’s spine arches, his legs falling open. “I don’t.”

Loki pulls back for a second, holding himself over Tony, like a taunting predator looking over his prey. His teeth gleam in the almost darkness. “Look at you, Iron Man, offering yourself to me.”

Instead of a smartass reply, all he can seem to do is roll his hips pleadingly, pushing his head back further into the pillows. Loki’s hands glide smoothly up Tony’s naked thighs, skirting around his groin to push upwards and over his abdomen. He is looking down, his ice cold eyes flicking over every inch before him.

Tony wants to smirk and tease, ask whether he sees something he likes - he knows what's on view, he can imagine what he looks like right now. But he doesn't trust himself enough to say just that and not beg for more, so he keeps his mouth shut. Loki looks down at him as if weighing his worth, before a light shimmer sweeps over him (damn magic again), and instead of armour there is now a single layer of a green silk shirt, crumpled around the edges with a day’s wear. Tony knows, somehow, this is no illusion, Loki has lowered his defences, is leaving himself open.

Tony dives for him.

There is a momentary battle for dominance where he receives a bite to his lip deep enough to bleed. Fingernails cut into his shoulder and then he loses the fight spectacularly, shoved down into the quilt with one hand, his wrists restrained with the other. There is a hint of a crimson glow in Loki's eyes, just for a second before he is back down upon him, curling a crafty tongue into Tony's mouth. Loki takes a few moments, just to kiss, to revel in his victory and taste his triumph.

The hands release him, but Tony stays, obediently, where he has been placed, letting Loki kiss down the length of him, nipping sharp teeth into the firm flesh of Tony's chest, his abdomen. His hands are caressing now, fingers guiding and thumbs stroking. Tony can tell where he is headed and he has never felt so desperate for it. He wants to plead and writhe beneath him, but he daren't actually move or open his mouth. Loki is a tease, nuzzling at Tony's pubic hair, worming his tongue around the side of his balls, but never where he actually wants him. Needs him.

Unable to stop himself, Tony growls in frustration.

"Beg me." Loki commands. He curls his fingers into Tony's hips, digs his fingernails into the skin. "Beg me, Stark. Plead for what you want."

It doesn't take much effort. "Please Loki, touch me, God, please."

"Yes," Loki hisses into the hot skin at the base of Tony's erection, "Pray to me."

He hadn't actually thought of it like that, a mortal and a higher being. But now he can see it, can feel the power throbbing from the body over him. Loki's mouth is cool silk and hot saliva and Tony’s spine contorts as he tries to stop himself thrusting into it. His hands descend of their own accord, anchoring again into hair, but there is no hostility, only an added depth to the suction around his shaft and a wicked flick of tongue under the head. Loki moans, taking pleasure in the giving of it.

***

 _More. He wants more. More of this hot skin against him, more of someone else's breath in his mouth, more of the shimmering splendour that is skittering through his veins. More of everything. He_ wants.

***

A soft fingertip. Just dry and just teasing  _against_  his ass, but that's still enough. Tony has never let a man fuck him before. He's had all manner of experiences with all manner of people (though, granted, never an Asgardian), but never quite felt the urge to be underneath someone, penetrated by someone. But, for some reason, the sly probing going on between his cheeks is perfectly all right. More than. He spreads his legs, he pushes his hips down searchingly, he moans like a whore.

Loki concedes pleasantly, removing his mouth momentarily to spit coarsely onto his hand, before guiding it back. The first digit slides in easily, cold and filling, surprising.

"Fuck." He can't keep the word inside. Loki's mouth is back and Tony doesn't know whether he wants to push forwards or back, up or down. The duvet rucks up behind him as he moves, tipping him up so he can see what is going on between his legs. "Yes, yes."

He truly is being taken apart. He's never been so hard in his life. The heat in his loins is burning him, fluctuating and swirling in waves against his insides. The finger pumping slowly inside of him tugs relentlessly as it withdraws, pulling noises of protest from his throat. Loki lifts his head again, leaving Tony’s cock cooling in the air, hacks and spits a bit more, smirking up at him at the noise. It should be disgusting, it should be a turn off. It is so very much not. Two fingers work back in together.

Tony is full, burning a little and stretching open. The sense of too much is delicious. If two fingers have him this far on edge, what the hell is anything else going to feel like? They push further in, curling and curving inside him. There is a gland in there, he knows, that Loki is aiming for. One that he has been stimulating from the outside with his knuckle behind Tony's balls. Tony is not ignorant, but nor has he ever personally searched it out before. And then Loki's fingertips graze against it, stroke it in an artful crescent design, and Tony makes an incomprehensible sound at the added warmth of the sensation rippling upwards through him and promises himself he will  _learn_  how to find that.

Loki takes his time, pushing Tony into places he’s not sure he’s entirely comfortable being, but can’t quite bear to leave, before he swallows down the pre-come that has been leaking into his mouth from the stimulation and slips his digits free. "My turn now, Stark."

The feel of boots pressing into his sides as Loki climbs up and over him is wrong, dirty, fabulous. Tony is completely naked, the air kissing his skin, and his lover is fully clothed, only now tugging open his belt and fastenings to guide his own erection between Tony's parted lips. He expects Loki to thrust into his mouth, to take him forcefully, but he slides in slowly, fucks luxuriously, every stroke long and concentrated. Tony feels his eyes roll back in his head at the feel and taste of salted musk and pleasure in his mouth. Loki’s long fingers fasten into the soft tufts on top of Tony's head and hold him still, threatening but not quite dominating.

"Look at me," he growls. Tony obeys, bringing a smile to the other man's lips. "Yes, that's it. Look at me while I take you."

Tony grunts. All he can do. He eagerly swallows down a sudden rising of his gag reflex, savouring the roll of tightness his mouth creates over the flesh filling it.  

"You look so pretty. Your soft pink lips around my prick - it's exquisite. I wonder how you will look with it up your arse. Will you cry as you call my name?” He leans down, his tone serious and more than a little dark. “I want to taste your tears, Stark."

His mouth is filthy and it is  _perfect_. The words shaped by those beautiful lips and flavoured by that smooth voice of satin, it could quite easily be Tony's new kink.

"I am going to lie beside you afterwards," Loki continues, and adds an extra flex to his hips, letting the head of his cock graze tantalisingly at the very back of Tony's tongue. "I'm going to spread you wide and watch my come drip out from inside you, run down between your legs, leave delicate glittering trails over the curve of your balls. I might lick it back up..."

Damn, Tony's pretty sure he could come just from listening to him spew out this nonsense.

"It would be delicious, what we make together. _You_ are delicious." Loki licks his lips as if in anticipation.

_***_

_It's not right. The feeling isn't fading, but it isn't heading any further either. Only a few moments ago it was stretching out inside him, straining outwards and filling him ounce by ounce, limb by limb. It's changing now, settling..._

***

"No, it's not  _right_." Loki pulls away, looking down almost sulkily.

"Well, those are words I never expected to come from you." Tony tries not to laugh at the irony. If ever anyone was unconcerned with right and wrong, it is not Loki. 

"Shut up," he snaps and fights with his clothes.

Tony doesn't get much of a chance to look him over, not as he'd like, not with the wriggling and whipping of limbs as Loki flings his own clothing off.

"What are you... what can I... do?"

"Again, you can shut up." His boots hit the wall beside the uncomfortable chair.

He does, but he grins because this is  _Loki,_  desperately shucking off his leather pants, in  _Tony's_  bed.

Loki is naked now, glorious pale skin shifting and lean muscles rippling as he slides back over, on top of Tony. He grabs Tony around the throat warningly, threateningly, before resting his weight down on Tony's belly. A sinuous rub against him, a long slow slide of skin, gripping and sliding against the sweat-damp body beneath him. Tony stares, unable to take his eyes off the lightly defined abdominal muscles, the faint trail of hair leading from his navel, down, down to his... cock, rising arrogantly between them. He can still taste it in his mouth and he feels his own erection pulsing, almost throbbing at the thought.

The smell of sex is heavy in the air, cloying and musky, stinging at Tony's nostrils. He wonders, for a moment, just what the hell is going on. He'd happily write it off as another one of those dreams, but it's too clear, too much, too everything.

And then Loki moves again, shifts backwards and, fuck, sinks himself down on Tony's cock in one easy slick move.

"Godfuckingdammit!" That never happened in his dreams. If it hadn't  _just_  happened, he's not sure his brain would have been capable of imagining it.

Loki simply raises an eyebrow, circling his hips and shifting Tony around inside him. The hot tight heat of him is almost too much, squeezing and crushing. It actually burns. For someone so cool on the outside, he is made of fire on the inside.

"A little warning," he gasps, "A little... lube?!" Did he really just do that totally unprepared? It doesn’t feel too bad, not bad at all really. But is that even possible?

Loki curves up one side of his mouth, raises up and sits back down with a (not quite as alarming as it should be) slippery squelch. But instead of taunting, he tips his head back and moans, deep and throaty.

Of course, this guy, with all his magic and powers and who knew what else, wouldn't need boring things like prep and lubricant. He could just sit and fuck away. Except apparently he can't - he can only rock back and forth gently and release small keening whines. But then, that might just be the hottest thing Tony has ever seen.

“Tony, please." His blunt nails scrabble at Tony's chest, leaving red welts of desperation.

With some kind of Herculean burst of strength, Tony manages to roll them over, capturing the god beneath him without slipping out or losing a limb. He can feel his cock being gripped and pulled back in, Loki's body holding onto him stubbornly.

"Yes," Loki hisses at the first thrust, "Open me up, Tony."

Oh, he's calling him by his given name now, which is oddly lovely, and wrapping his long legs high around Tony's waist. Tony pulls out, digging his knees into the mattress for leverage, and drives back in. Hard. Loki bends backwards into the bed with long noise of pure enjoyment. So he does it again, harder. And again.

There is something else going on here, something more than simple (or not so simple) sex, Tony can see it now. He's not quite sure what it is, but this feels too serious, too deep. The way Loki is arching underneath him - he is taking more than physical pleasure from this. There is a hot twist in Tony's pelvis, a quick shock of buildup, but he lets it go, changing his rhythm. He wants to watch Loki come undone underneath him first. He grabs hold of taut thighs and bends his lover almost in half.

"Yes, _this_ , this is what I want, this it _it_." 

"Ah, crap." It's too much, it's too damn hot. Tony can feel the trails of sweat running down the back of his neck. He can hardly breathe. Loki is watching him, the red-tinge turning his eyes violet as they bore into Tony, and he takes himself roughly in one cool-fingered hand. Tony can't stop the heat racking up inside his belly. "I'm, not, it's going, I'm..." 

"Come then, complete me, Tony, finish us,” he breathes, he pants, he commands.

“Ah, dammit, Loki!”

***

 _The howl of fulfilment comes from both outside and in. The pitch of his lover's voice is at a perfect harmony with the buzz exploding into colour inside of him. He no longer just longs, he_ has _._

_***_

Loki does sleep, Tony realises. The silence isn't awkward or devious, it's just unconscious. He's quite tempted to pass out himself, but the idea of Loki dozed off in bed beside him is too much to pass up. They had separated, reluctantly, and Tony had just thought to rest his eyes and muscles before having to deal with the aftermath of the whole debacle when he noticed. 

He turns over slowly and cautiously, partly to remain undetected, and partly because his aching and strained muscles will contemplate nothing else. Loki looks... like a man, a shagged out man, sweaty and dishevelled and utterly gorgeous.

Tony reaches out a hand to stroke a stray lock of hair from a high forehead, but the movement is caught and arrested with a strong sudden hand before he is within an inch of contact. 

"Don't." Loki's eyes are still closed, but his face is more awake. 

"Are you staying?" He feels like a bit of an idiot asking. 

"Don't be absurd."

"I'm rarely anything else." 

Loki opens his eyes and sweeps a long careful look over Tony's face, "I do not trust in my security here."

"Trust in mine," Tony pulls his hand back from the grip and continues with his original intention. It's almost affectionate, "Stay."

He sighs, "For a while."

***

_Movement pulls and yanks and tears and rips, but he cannot remain still any longer. A hand on skin, a fleeting contact of affection, and the tugging is instantly more bearable. The claws inside uncurl, stroke and soothe._

***

Tony wakes up alone. He’s not sure why he expected any different. But a little part of him had anticipated waking up warm and embraced, tangling his feet leisurely with someone else, maybe letting his lips linger on a flat chest and trail up a slender neck. Only a dream though, a dream.

Except when he rolls into a darker patch, shying away from the sunlight that beams through the automatically cleared glass, his body gives out an aching protest and a twinge of overuse. He opens his eyes, struggling to focus on the pillow immediately in front of him, his sight jerky and dim. The fabric is crushed and crumpled, and against the white high-count cotton lies a single long dark hair.

Tony smiles and savours the crack of his scabbed lip.

***

The tower buzzes with lights and life, even as late as it is when Tony returns from some charity function or other. He knows better, or so he thinks, than to search for a familiar presence. Instead he tugs his bow tie loose, shaking off the sociable persona with it, and heads for the living area, and the bar.

Tony is tired, exhausted. Not just from lack of sleep and overexertion, just from life. He wants to close his eyes and lose himself somewhere. Somewhere he can stay without constraints of time and duty. But that’s impossible, so he’ll have to settle for liquor-induced stupor instead.

The ornate glass decanter is already out and unstoppered and he pauses with a hand on the back of his neck and the other flat on the bartop. His stomach plummets delightfully as he looks up, knowing immediately what he will see.

Leant lazily back against the leather cushion of the sofa is Loki, dressed in his simple shirt and leather pants, one slender bare foot resting on the low table. There are two glasses, amber honey pleasure settled ripple-less within.

Loki smiles a slow smile, full of devilish intent and promise. “Drink?”

And _there_ is something Tony can lose himself in.

**Author's Note:**

> As previously stated, my first foray into this fandom, though you all seem so damned lovely. I might stay for a while...


End file.
